


From Gha’alia with Love

by Etherized



Category: Ebon Light (Visual Novel)
Genre: Bondage, Breathplay, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, F/M, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, Mild Blood, Mildly Dubious Consent, Rope Bondage, Shibari, Sort of a threesome anyway, Threesome - F/M/M, Voyeurism ...also sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:13:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23103034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etherized/pseuds/Etherized
Summary: A collection of drabbles, unfinished plots, half-baked headcanons and more featuring the boys (and perhaps girls) of the visual novel Ebon Light. Chapters may be updated at any time and anything posted is not guaranteed to remain unchanged.*Now with individual chapter trigger warnings!
Relationships: Alenca Goffil | Main Character/Duliae Laushust, Alenca Goffil | Main Character/Ernol Milirose, Duliae Laushust/Alenca Goffil | Main Character/Ernol Milirose, Laceaga Darhal/Alenca Goffil | Main Character
Comments: 2
Kudos: 34





	1. give to me your leather, take from me my lace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’re enjoying this,” she demands, a breathless sound of disbelief punctuating her words.
> 
> He snorts in response, a sound that seems far too dignified for his current position.
> 
> “And you’re not? That can be fixed, mysao’ora,” he purrs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings for: Mildly Dubious Consent × Light Dom/sub × Bondage × Rope Bondage × Shibari × Breathplay × Mild Blood × Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs × Light BDSM

He chuckles darkly, muffled as it is by fabric. The gag is beautiful.

“You’re enjoying this,” she demands, a breathless sound of disbelief punctuating her words.

Her hands pin the backs of his own to the mattress, fingers intimately interlaced. Her tanned skin against his pale complexion is a delicious contrast. The compliment of fresh purpling bruises blossoming on his ivory throat, the angry red indentations of her teeth in the meat of his trapezius muscle. Juxtaposed much like the durability of the—artfully looped—delicate black ropes encircling his upper torso, his manhood, shoulders, back, neck, thighs, framing his dusky nipples. 

He snorts in response, a sound that seems far too dignified for his current position.

Taking the hint, she carefully lowers the knotted spit-soaked handkerchief that serves as his muzzle.

“And you’re not? That can be fixed, _mysao’ora,_ ” he purrs.

He bucks his hips up into her _hard_ and she gasps, taken by surprise. But unable to gain much leverage from his supine position, it’s not nearly enough to dismount her from her pretty perch. She licks her lips at his failed attempt to turn the tables.

“What’s this? You know the rules _Laceaga,”_ she chides, using the entirety of his name never fails to wring a reaction from him.

He shudders against his bonds, breath hitching almost imperceptibly. It might have otherwise gone unnoticed, but she can **_feel_** it; pressed against him as she is, her breasts aching from the chafing rub of the knots against her chest _._

When she doesn’t move, denies him the friction he craves, he groans in dismay.

“I do.” He grinds out, in a frustrated tone from between clenched teeth. Then, he changes tactics.

“Are you going to punish me for it, _Rabbit?”_ He says salaciously, words dripping with sex. He’s all hooded bedroom eyes as they stare each other down. But she has more patience than he does, when it comes to their chaotic lovemaking.

There’s an unspoken _“Well?”_ to be found in the cock of one smug eyebrow, a challenge in the slant of his still-bloody smirk.

The blood that had welled up from his gums had given her pause, afraid she’d gone too far and badly hurt him. When she had asked if he was okay, he’d grinned and shook his head.

Then he’d simply licked his red-stained teeth, before treating her to the **_filthiest_ **kiss of her entire life.

It had been so good; she’d let him get away with his disobedience in refusing to answer a direct question.

“I think you like it when I punish you, Lacey.” She teases, planting a chaste kiss on his lips that he immediately corrupts into an obscene open-mouthed tongue-wrestling match. She tastes the tang of iron again. Everything they do is a fight; so, she allows him to win the battle of plundering her lips.

She’s won the war, anyway. 

_Eventually,_ when he’s satisfied with her sore and swollen lips, and their chins are messy with saliva, she breaks the facsimile of a kiss.

She releases his hands to begin a slow, sensual slide down his lithe body. The back of his head thumps once, twice, _hard_ against the headboard as she takes detours in the ‘V’ of his iliac furrow; tongue laving the areas of skin not obscured by the strands of rope tied by her skillful hand.

When she reaches her prize in the form of his beautifully weeping cock, the quiet _shallow panting_ breaths she can hear has her making the mistake of looking back up at him.

His golden-brown eyes are _pure liquid desire_ , and she catches the eager movement of his Adam’s apple, throat working hard to swallow under the rigid confines of a black cord.

She slips two fingers into the central rope, pulls taut the scant amount of slack around the marble column of his neck. The bastard’s smug smirk disappears.

He chokes briefly, but his stubborn Gha’alian stoicism even in the midst of _suffocation_ means that he suffers in silence; refusing to make another disgracefully weak sound.

She holds both eye-contact and the pressure against his windpipe for a while longer, until his eyes squeeze shut and his next inhale is a desperate sob for release.

He submits.

She lets him go.

The exquisite sound of his heaving lungs combined with the glisten of tears at the corner of his eyes is _too much_ , and the muscles of her lower abdomen flutter in arousal.

Her own sex clenches at nothing, the emptiness, the yearning to be filled reminding her of her original task.

She stares agape at him for a moment longer, until her brain stutters and comes up with a better use for her mouth. Absolutely _soaked_ by the time she turns her attention back to her spoils of war; she messily slurps her way onto his cock before swallowing him down.

He’s too big for her to take to the hilt, but her enthusiasm makes up for it. 

He grunts, the well-defined muscles of his arms and shoulders flexing to no avail. She doesn’t relent, lavishing attention on his so-long-neglected cock until he _positively keens_ , but he can do nothing but endure the sweet torture she inflicts.

He comes with a shout.

It’s not a victorious cry, but one of longing.

A sad sound she doesn’t like having to hear from the strong husband who is her equal, who fulfills her in every way.

She hums in consideration, savoring the salt of him on her tongue.

Perhaps she’ll leave the gag on next time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from Stevie Nicks & Don Henley's song "Leather and Lace."


	2. Duliae is a study in duality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings for: ... unfulfilled hornyness? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Duliae is a study in duality.

As ostentatious as the man is, as the entirety of his estate is, his bedroom is lacking in the decadence one might otherwise expect.

His bed-sheets are of a fine make, but ultimately simple.

His manners are those of a gentleman, but he eats like an unrefined _animal._

A paradox.

So poised, every little movement Duliae makes is controlled; calculated.

And so, a peacefully sleeping— _thoroughly-fucked_ —Duliae makes for quite the captivating view.

Her hand reaches for him, palm skimming over his lower abdomen; intending to gently wake him for a pleasant surprise: _round two_.

But he must have felt the intensity of her lascivious and not-so-subtle gaze, as a moment later his full lips quirk into a satisfied smile.

His voice is a breathless male _hum_ that tapers off into a sigh of contentment.

Rustling, the whisper of bed-sheets sliding against sweat-slicked skin.

Disheveled pale-yellow curls swept back by his hand, to frame an even more pale shoulder.

A stretch as languid and sensual as any cat, and he _turns away_ from her to lie on his stomach.

He rolls his hips, flexing sore and not-often-used muscles. Despite his rejection, there’s a delightful flush of wet heat down her thighs as her gaze follows the movement.

Her desire is immediately rekindled, and were Duliae in the right state of mind he might have noticed. In his post-sex haze however, his purple eyes closed in bliss, the darkening of the blush on her cheeks and her bare breasts remains a secret.

_The goddamned tease._

His arms curl around a pillow, clutching it close to his chest like a precious thing. Jealous, her eyes narrow as the thing seems to mock her from its place, lanky arms an embrace while his face is smothered into it. 

_Well, two can play at that game._

Her fingertips dance wickedly along the line of his now exposed back, trace the vertebrae of his spine from his buttocks up to the splash of color on his right shoulder muscle.

A delightful groan a moment later, the sound smothered by the fabric.

When her fingernails join the idle tracing, he separates himself from the cushion long enough to give her a lingering, inquisitive look.

She must not have done a thorough enough job dismantling him earlier, since he has the presence of mind enough for to read the filthy question that must be so obviously showing on her face.

He sighs.

An amused huff, an admonishing look. “I’ve not the endurance I once had in my youth, darling.”

At first, the expression he wears is the wry twist she’s seen of his full lips when delivering his trademark dry, sarcastic humor.

But _oh. **Oh.**_

He turns that rare heavy-lidded gaze full of fondness on her, and she’s _soaking_ for him.

She’s hopeful for a moment until-

“You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t encourage your ministrations.” Another sigh, this time from her own lips.

“You’ve quite exhausted me.”

She relents, the teasing, scratching strokes becoming firmer.

Kneading the meat of his shoulder, her knuckles dig into the knots of his tense back. She rubs the dark ink of stylized lines under his stark skin, depicting some great scaled beast curled into itself.

“What’s the story behind this? A wyvern?” She murmurs, all sweetness and honeyed words when Duliae is practically purring under her ministrations. She can never resist fishing for more tidbits about the enigma that is her lover.

It’s become a game between them, quid-pro-quo. She gives him something, he answers something honestly in return.

It takes him so long to respond that she’d assumed he’d either not registered the question, or chose not to answer it.

“A dragon.”

Her hands come to a standstill over the tattoo. They both wait, a war of attrition with one unwilling to give in before the other.

It is not she who moves first.

“Ah. It’s not a terribly interesting story.”

Her hands resume the deep massage she’d been in the middle of; before his stubborn habit of serial dishonesty interrupted.

“I’ll tell you.” She smiles, teeth bared.

_A small victory against him._

“Next time, perhaps, if you manage to render me speechless.”

Her blunt nails inflict her outrage on him; summon angry red lines into his flesh.

He laughs, amused.


	3. I'm asking you for a favor.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sort of kink fill for someone's comment:  
> "still like the idea of duliae finding a handsome lad or lass to hire to have sex with the mc while he sits in the corner to do paperwork, reading glasses on, not bothering to look up and telling them what to do, and if he does look up its just -quirks eyebrow nonchalantly and goes back to paperwork-" WHOOPS I got him involved, oh well.
> 
> "Bonus points if the one he hires is another LI"
> 
> I figured bonus points if it was everyone's favorite broody elf.
> 
> Title is taken from what I imagine would have been a line of whatever dialogue or blackmail Duliae managed to convince/threaten Ernol to do this with. What with the nature of their relationship, the debts between them must have come into play somehow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings for: Threesome - F/M/M × Sort of a threesome anyway × Voyeurism ...also sort of ×

The lewd, _wet_ sound of the slap of their bodies fills the air; already thick with the smell of sex.

Duliae’s study is poorly ventilated, and she can feel the drip of sweat down her forehead where it rests against the cool wood of the desk.

 _“_ _Duliae!”_ she mewls, lost in the ecstasy of their coupling.

Ernol grunts animalistically from somewhere near her ear, his furious thrusts brutally joining them together as his hands claw at her hips. Pausing for a moment, he spreads her legs wider with a leg between her own, pulling her back to spear her _deeper_ onto his cock.

The adjustment makes her slide down to rest at an uncomfortable angle, and it’s not the same in this new position, but Ernol doesn’t seem to notice. After a particularly hard thrust, she _winces_ , fingernails scrabbling for purchase at the edges of the desk.

Eyes that before had been closed in rapture now open, and she looks pleadingly up at the insufferable man that is her husband.

Duliae quirks an eyebrow, casually smiles down at her from where he sits serenely behind his study's desk. She can just barely make out his hand-writing on the cover of the trade ledger held aloft in his elegant fingers.

He decides to have mercy on her, closes the book with a snap.

“Ernol.” He says with a long-suffering sigh, as if preparing to explain something to a particularly petulant child.

Ernol slows their relentless pace, but doesn’t stop moving. She notices the moment when he looks at Duliae to respond; because the intense purple gaze she loves so much moves away from focusing on her, grows annoyed.

 ** _“_** ** _What.”_** Bites out Ernol, the slow _, sensual_ grind of his pelvis against hers better, but not much from what he was doing before.

“I’ve always believed you to be a hard worker, Ernol.” _There it is,_ she thinks.

The set-up for Duliae’s scathing criticism.

His eyes are back to hers now, and she viciously grins at him. He’s struck suddenly by how harpy-like his wife can be; and reminds himself to think of something unpleasant to do to Lonre the next time he sees him.

“Put your back into it and lift her higher, she’s not enjoying it.” The punchline.

Ernol sputters half in rage, half in denial.

 _“_ _You-“_ he begins angrily, but cuts off with a choked sound as she clamps down on him as best she can, squeezing her thighs together.

He draws breath harshly through his nostrils, skin unnaturally cool against hers.

“If she’s not enjoying it, then you can do it _yourself-”_

“Ernol. _Ernol, please_ ,” she begs him shamelessly, deciding to intervene before _nobody_ ends up fucking her.

Duliae’s expression pinches in distaste for a moment, but then he relaxes back into his chair with a teasing look, and a satisfied smirk that matches her earlier grin.

“Just a suggestion, Ernol.” He says calmly, returning to his _boring_ record-keeping work as if he weren’t giving his best friend advice on how to properly fuck his woman.

The glide of Duliae’s fingertips slowly leafing through ledger-pages to pick up where he left off are a deliberate tease for her amusement.

Ernol growls, bends to pick her up and drops her unceremoniously smack in the middle of the desk. She gasps, her chin hanging low off the end of it. Her face is inches away from Duliae’s lap.

His tongue clicks, obviously displeased with Ernol’s behavior.

“No small wonder _why_ she’s not satisfied.” Patronizes Duliae, and he once more closes the book.

“You shouldn’t treat women so roughly _, Ernol.”_ He hisses, and _ah,_ there’s a sharper sibilant edge to Duliae’s tone now. She can feel herself grow warmer _, wetter_ when she recognizes the threat for what it is.

“Didn’t your _mother_ teach you any manners?” A strangled noise of pure wrath from Ernol, then the delicious feeling of him ramming into her once more, his cool chest draped over her back like a blanket.

It’s a beautiful contrast to the absolutely manic way he ruts against her, like he can never be deep enough inside of her.

Her eyes close again in pleasure, until there’s a soft nudge against the skin of her cheek.

Certain that he’s got her attention for the display; Duliae’s hand reaches for the fastenings of his trousers. The fingers of his other hand slide into her hair to curl in a merciless grip at the back of her neck.

She licks her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this comes across as sort of a crack fic, well. 
> 
> I'm not going to deny there's a few inside jokes weaved through it, and that this scenario is terribly unlikely to ever happen in canon, in character. 
> 
> Either way, perhaps it's simply a pleasant fever dream poor sexually frustrated MC/Alenca had.


End file.
